The Young Druid Boy
by RegalPrincessOfMagic
Summary: Her skin as pale as the snow which covered the frozen ground, Her lips bloody red, and her eyes pools of golden honey as she muttered softly what she was born to do; Only magic could give him such a gift. But, alas, it would not last, for those same sweet lips said, "Mordred, Run!"
1. Chapter 1

The Young Druid Boy

Prologue

Screams and cries of anguish hung in the air, and the heat of a blazing fire scorched the side of her face. Around her, chaos reigned cruelly. Cottages caught spark and blew up, everything she had once known was being destroyed before her very eyes, and she could not do a single thing.

A girl and her father were cornered. The girl had her sleek bow ready, an arrow nocked in it. Her father held his sword steady. Together, they warded off their attackers. The father twisted and turned, skilfully playing the sword and slaying those who came near. The girl shot arrow after arrow with remarkable accuracy, the one which only could be achieved after years of practise. They stayed safe together, but their luck would not hold.

Soon, the attackers overwhelmed the man and his daughter. They surrounded them and jeered at them cruelly. The girl nocked another arrow in her bow and pulled it taut, ready to let it loose at the word of her father. He stood still for a moment, assessing the situation. The man was caught out.

The attackers showed no mercy. They came at the man in staggering numbers, each taking a blow at him, and while he fended off the worst, the hits were soon having an effect.

"VESTA! GET OUT OF HERE! GO! NOW!" he bellowed at his horrified daughter through the tangle of men. He held out a silver dagger in his hand, which was sticking out, and lobbed it in a random direction for his daughter to take. "GO MY CHILD! TAKE YOLUN!" the man roared before being completely lost from sight.

The girl stood speechless, unable to comprehend. Her feet were rooted in the ground, even though she knew she had to go now. Her father was buried under several men, and it would take him a miracle to get out on his own. He was most probably… the girl forced her shock down and gulped. She quickly gathered the dagger her father left her, grabbed her bow and a quiver full of arrows, and set of for the stables. She got there safely. The girl looked around, seeking the dappled grey horse which once belonged to her… him. She took hold of the saddle and hoisted herself up, then tugged the horse into the right direction. They instantly began to canter, and when they got to the door, the horse reared back and kicked it open. They galloped out into the open. The girl frantically looked around. The sight was horrendous. Houses had been burnt down, people killed and scattered across the ground. Shops had been destroyed and what the girl had once known was gone. She choked on a sob as she stared in dismay. Her home was gone.

She left the village abruptly, nobody saw her. It was snowing and the ground was covered thick, but she was grateful as she was well camouflaged with her pure white cape. She tugged the horse here and there, taking different directions every so often as to not run into any hostiles. The two were fine for some time. Then there was the close sound of another horse whinnying. The girl heard a man shush it hastily. She knew she was being watched. She carefully twisted Yolun to the right, and then patted his abdomen with her heals to tell him to go. Just as he was about to set off, the man showed himself. He charged out, took his crossbow, aimed and fired at the girl. He hit Yolun, who reared back and collapsed, right on top of his rider. The man smirked and left, left the horse and the girl to their dreadful deaths, the horse from the shot, the girl from the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter one

Vesta woke up. She opened her eyes, and saw a fire. Fraught with panic, she yelped and twisted. But she couldn't move. Her legs were wrapped in some sort of material. She thrashed and kicked and ended up falling off something with a thump. Vesta looked up, and saw a boy getting up, heading towards her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was smooth, and strong. She nodded stiffly and attempted to sit upright, but failed. The boy sighed and helped her onto the hammock on which she had fallen off in the first place. He covered her with a blanket and went back to the fire.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Vesta replied, "My name is Vesta. I left my village."

"Why?"

"Because it got destroyed." Vesta whispered.

"Do you have any family?" The boy turned his head to face her.

Vesta choked. She remembered how her father was probably dead, how his horse was ruthlessly killed, how she was left in the snow to die. She didn't want to remember. "No,"

The boy studied her face thoughtfully. He looked into her eyes and felt the pain she had gone through. She had no one left now.

"Well, you can stay for now. And I saved a few of your things." He said flatly, showing Vesta her precious bow and quiver, her season cape, and her father's dagger. He tossed them to the side and went back to watching the fire.

Vesta woke up in the morning. The air was chilly, and she was on her own. The boy had gone, most probably to hunt or to fetch water. This gave Vesta a chance to explore a bit. She got off the hammock and donned her season cape. Her mother had made it for her. It was pure white on one side, and brown on the other. For the seasons. When hunting, Vesta could camouflage all the time, whether it was snowing, or if the leaves were falling and the trees were full. It was her only object left from her late mother, so she treasured it dearly. Vesta went outside, found a barrel of water, and splashed her face. The water was icy, but refreshing, alerting her senses. Then she went back inside. Her bow and quiver and dagger were where the boy had tossed them last night. She hadn't asked his name yet. Vesta made a mental note to ask. Taking her bow and donning the quiver, Vesta tied the dagger to her belt, and went back outside. The cold air biting her face, and her pretty cheeks burning red, she set of on her hunt.

An hour later, the snow drift had lessened, and Vesta had a better chance of catching prey. She prowled silently through the trees, her keen eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of food. She caught sight of herself every so often in an icicle, her reflection flashing past it. Vesta saw her long dark hair, gently curling from beneath her white hood, which matched her pale and flawless complexion. Her eyes were honey coloured, and her lips were bloody red. But that didn't matter to her; she kept her mind on the hunt. After a long time of tracking, Vesta finally came across the hoof prints of a doe in the snow. Her spirits lifted, and she followed them. The tracks were shallow, meaning the doe was going slowly, and they were neat, deliberate. That meant that the doe was looking food, not running. Vesta kept following, until she came to the end of the line. The doe stood there, grazing on a patch of grass poking through the sheet of snow. She didn't notice Vesta dive behind an oak. Vesta clung to the tree, pulled out her bow, and nocked an arrow into it. She tensed, and pulled the arrow taut, then waited for the doe to duck down. When it did, she stretched her chest and arms to their full extent, and… The arrow didn't fly. She didn't let go of it. The boy from last night had swung down from the tree and tapped her shoulder. Vesta looked up, and saw him tell her to come up. He extended his arm to help her climb the tree, and she was pulled into it.

"Why did you stop me?" she hissed furiously.

He shrugged and said, "I was going to let you shoot, but then I decided to see if you could shoot from up here."

Vesta smirked, "Are you insulting me? I could hit a mouse from up here."

The boy raised his eyebrows and said, "Well then, why don't you hit the doe in the eye? Make it a clean shot, don't kill it, and just hit it unconscious. "

Vesta rolled her eyes. This was going to be easy. She nocked the arrow back into her bow, lay on her belly along the branch, and stretched the string. She took careful aim, measured the power she needed, and then let the arrow fly. It hit the doe's eye swiftly and silently. No blood was spilled, the body was undamaged, and when they checked, it was still alive, just unconscious.

"Well done," The boy sniffed as he pulled out his dagger. He checked the doe's pulse, and then cleanly slit the doe's throat, killing it once and for all. Vesta stayed silent, staring at the boy.

"What is your name?" she asked, at the same time wondering if he would even tell her.

"Mordred." He looked at her earnestly from behind his brown hair.

"Why do you live here alone?" Vesta whispered.

"I cannot tell."

Back at Mordred's shack, he was skinning the doe outside, and Vesta was sulking inside. She had offered several times to help, but Mordred had blatantly told her no and sent her back into the shack. Vesta muttered angrily to herself for some time, and then decided that nothing was going to change his mind, so instead she might as well do something useful. She grabbed a few logs from the pile in the corner, placed them in the fire place, and then put some semi damp leaves on top to make the fire burn slower. She took two pieces of flint, rubbed them profusely, and when she got a spark, she lighted a fire. When it started glowing brightly, Vesta took a pail and went outside.

"You can't help me Vesta; go back inside." Mordred said to her without taking his eyes off his work.

"I wasn't going to ask." Vesta retorted. She turned away from him and kneeled down. Digging her hands into the snow, she gasped as the ice froze her fingers, and pulled a block. She dumped it into the pail and made her way back into the shack. After hanging the pail over the fire for the snow to melt and boil, Vesta turned her attention to cooking a meal.

"Mordred, can you give me some meat chunks?"

His head still hung, Mordred sighed and said, "Why?"

"So that I can make a stew." Vesta replied testily.

"Urgh fine." He threw her a sling of tied up meat. Vesta caught it and made her way back inside. She unpicked the tightly knotted threads which Mordred had used to keep the meat together with her nails and her dagger, then roughly chopped it and plonked the pieces into the boiling water. Then she explored around the shack a little more and discovered some garlic heads, onions, herbs and an assortment of winter vegetables. Vesta took these, prepared them and plopped them into the stew. Then she lay back, unsure of what to do.

"You didn't have to; I was going make it myself," Mordred grunted when he finally came in. Vesta studied his face incredulously. Did he really think she was going to sit down and leave him to do everything? She noted his dark brown hair, and his pale face, the freckles which spread on his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. She was too far way to tell what colour his eyes were. His face was very handsome, Vesta realised with a small jolt. If only he was a little nicer. "I would've got bored, and I hate getting bored." Vesta stated.

"Well, sew, or knit or whatever. You're a girl." He muttered.

"Girls can cook, and hunt and anything else they care to do!" Vesta protested reproachfully, her pale cheeks reddening with anger. Mordred gave her a patronising look and turned back to his fire. Vesta huffed irately and turned her back to him, cutting off any communication. She hated it when people were stereotypical about girls. She could not count how many times she had been so eager to join her father on a hunt, and be stuck in a kitchen with some wife who did nothing more than gossip and chastise her. Now that there was no one to make her do those things, Vesta wasn't going to let a snivelling boy get in her way of doing the things she really enjoyed, even if he had a pretty face.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to find a village for you to stay at. You won't survive long here. It'd be better for both of us if you went." Mordred mentioned suggestively. Leaving her trail of thoughts behind, Vesta spun around, her long dark hair flying, and fixed Mordred with a disbelieving glare.

"Why? Oh please don't! At least here I have freedom! I don't want to go back to those stupid wives and men who make me embroider hankies for them. Let me stay?!" Vesta pleaded. Mordred kept quiet, as if assessing the situation. Vesta, now quite desperate, jumped up, kneeled down in front of him and grabbed his arm. He looked at her, and she caught sight of his eyes. They were deep, crystal Blue, so unlike her golden shade. He searched her face quizzically, and then settled in an intensive stare at her eyes. Vesta held the stare; for fear that he might make her go if she broke away. But after a while, he shook his head, and said softly, "It's alright, you can stay with me."

Vesta let out a sigh of relief, now realising that she had been holding it the whole time. Mordred laid his hands on her shoulders, encouraged her to get up, and gently steered her to her stool. Once sat down, he offered her the bowl of stew and sat in his place. They finished their supper in silence, and then Mordred grunted something about wanting to stay up a little longer, but that Vesta could go to sleep if she wished. So she tucked herself into the hammock and tried to drift off.

The next morning, Mordred woke Vesta up by gently patting her cheek. She opened her eyes, felt his cold hand on her face and shivered. He immediately withdrew his hand.

"Come with me. I want to show you something." He said with a slight smile on his face. Vesta, puzzled, swung her legs over the hammock side, took her cape from his hands, and clipped it around her lovely neck. As it was snowing outside and the ground still had a thick sheet of snow on it, the cape was worn with the silky white side up, and the furry brown side in. She found her bow and quiver full of arrows, then carefully stepped out of the shack to follow Mordred.

She tracked him expertly. The snow tracks and the small signs here and there which her keen eye spotted out led her to him. He was up in a tree again, and when Vesta made to climb it, he graciously helped her up. His hand strongly gripped hers and lifted her to come face to face with him, an inch apart. Vesta breathed heavily as she half closed her eyes, as if in a dream, but then snapped them wide open when she heard the whinny of a horse. Frightened, she looked around frantically for some cover, but failed to find any. The tree was bare, just like all the others.

Mordred remained calm. He quickly made for Vesta's neck, and fumbled for the clasp to her cloak. Turning it woody side up, he pressed his body against hers and covered them completely. The material was big, so it covered them well. But still, Vesta and Mordred had to stick together, and Vesta could feel his warm breath tickling her bare neck and upper chest.

"Where did they come from?" Vesta breathed soundlessly.

"The town. Stay silent, don't move." He calmly replied.

So they lay there, against a branch, waiting for the men and horses to go, so that they could disappear themselves. Vesta wanted to desperately scratch her neck, which was still being tickled by Mordred's breath, but it looked like the men were staying, and Vesta and Mordred were in for a very, long night.

After what seemed like hours of cramped and awkward positioning, Mordred snaked his hand up to Vesta's chin and pulled it down until her ear was at his lips.

"Vesta, do not move. I am going to distract the men so that you can escape." He whispered into her ear. When he felt her nod, he gently eased the cloak off of himself, at the same time making sure it would still hide her. Then, once he was completely free, he slid off the tree. He sneaked into the bushes, and started to put his plan into action.

Vesta waited on the branch of the old oak. She was blue with cold, and absolutely terrified of what might happen to Mordred and her. She had felt him leave her, which made her more nervous because she felt as if he was protecting her, and now that protection was gone. How did she know Mordred wouldn't run off, leaving her here? How did she know he would risk his life and freedom to help her get away from these nameless men? Vesta forced down all those doubts and concentrated on devising a way to escape, when the chance was given to her. She peeked out from underneath the cloak and saw Mordred crouching behind the bushes, as if ready to pounce. Vesta gasped. Surely Mordred was not going to show himself to them? That would be insane, not to mention suicide. The men would most definitely kill him. As Vesta struggled to get out of the tree and warn Mordred, she wandered how she was going to get to him. He was far too ahead in his ridiculous plan. That's when a thought struck her. Vesta would just have to distract the men herself. So she rolled, hung off the tree, and landed on the ground with a crunch in the snow. It was crisp, and there was no snow fall to cover her tracks, so Vesta knew she would have to move fast. She slipped an arrow from her quiver, nocked it into her bow, and pulled it tight along her breast. With a quick prayer, she let the arrow fly.

The arrow hit a tree with a satisfying thud. It instantly brought the men's attention, not to mention Mordred's. The moment he saw the arrow lodged in the trunk of the hollow beech, it dawned on him. Vesta must've shot that arrow as a warning to him. Most probably, she had already run off, knowing these men would come after her. A clever plot, Mordred told himself as he ducked lower in the bare bushes, and then realised that he would have to go after her to make sure she was okay. After all, she had done his job for him, he owed her something. So, after the men had armed themselves and gone after Vesta, Mordred brushed down his clothes, picked up his bow and arrows, and followed them.

Vesta ran. She could hear her rapid breath puncturing the deadly silence of the forest, and the crunching of the snow beneath her light feet. She knew that if she didn't find somewhere to hide soon, the chase would be over. She would not let that happen, not after what she had to do to get out. After what seemed like miles of running, Vesta leaned against a thick oak with low branches, clutching her burning side. She was breathless, and would need to hide now or else she would be caught. But where? There was under the snow, up a tree, or in some winter shrubbery. She would have to make a choice now. Except, too late. Vesta heard nearby shouts, jumped, and felt a sharp, raw feeling in her waist. She hadn't realised how near they were to her. They must've taken horses! Resolving to find a hiding place after putting some distance between her faceless enemies, she carried on running. She ignored the painful fire which seared her side, the dreadful cold biting her face, and the looming darkness which surrounded her. "_I have to get away," _was all Vesta could think. Soon, she could run no more, and the pain in her waist was excruciating. She looked down, and with bile rising in her throat, saw an arrow lodged in her skin. She clutched it, yanked it out with a silent scream, and fell into the snow, one word hanging in her blank mind.

'_Mordred'_


End file.
